Chapter Text
“What do you mean “the photographer saw it?” Do I have to stuff the twat’s arsehole with so many ring binders that they start falling out of his fucking eye sockets?” the gesticulating fifty-something man shouted furiously into his phone oblivious to the part of school children he was about to barge through at the security gate outside Downing Street.
“If we can stand to the side and let the man through. We don’t want to get in his way,” called out their teacher.
“Yes, Miss.”
“Yes, I’m aware it’s a fucking catastrophe. I cannot help if you fuckers in Education cannot do your jobs. It’s like the department is run by school children,” he barked down the line before ending the call.
It was only then that he realised who was near him. He momentarily changed his tone, “Excuse me, thank you. Busy day. Chaos at work. Excuse me.” He managed to fight his way along the pavement through the throng of kids and commuters, to the policeman on the gate.
“Good morning Mr Tucker,” the man said as he waved him through.
“Morning Sergeant.”
“Lovely day Mr Tucker.”
“Three minor catastrophes, a major policy leak and the general chaos of Monday morning. It’s going to be fucking great.”
“If you say so sir.”
Malcolm had already begun another phone call as he walked towards the famous black door of Number Ten.
“Tell the minister she is indisposed for the rest of the morning. All media goes through me….of course there will be an urgent question in the House…and the minister will fucking answer it…we wouldn’t be this far down the shitter if it hadn’t been for Mr Careless….”
“That was an angry man Miss Oswald.”
“It’s Monday, I’m sure he just has a stressful job,” Clara replied, looking at her watch.
“That was well out of order!”
“If we said that we’d get detention.”
“When are we going in Miss Oswald?”
“In a moment. I was told we had to be precisely on time.”
“Do you think we’ll see the Prime Minister, Miss Oswald?”
“I’m not sure, he’s a very busy man.”
“Politics is so boring.”
“It is not.” Clara said, affronted. “Politics is so important to all of us every day. Without a government we’d have no laws, fewer jobs, less money and no school.”
“Yeah well that’s a good thing.”
“I don’t think so. I think you are looking at it a bit too simplistically Kyle. How would you make friends if you never came to school?”
“Uhhh-“
“How would you learn the skills you need for later life? How would you make opportunities for yourself?”
“We all know Kyle doesn’t want to be here Miss.”
“Let’s not single people out,” Clara said a little exasperatedly. “Ah, I think we can now ask to go in.”
“Good morning Miss,” said the imposing policeman on the gate. Clara noted the semi-automatic machine gun slung across his chest, the handgun in a holster at his hip and the Taser in the breast pocket of his stab proof vest.
“Good morning. Clara Oswald and the students from Coal Hill School. We have a nine o’clock appointment with Samantha Cassidy.” The policemen repeated what she had said into his radio.
“How many students Miss?” he asked after a moment.
“Sixteen.” He relayed it back into his radio.
“And staff?”
“Just myself.”
“Very good miss. If you send the kids through one at a time, the WPC in the guardhouse can give each person a visitor’s pass.”
“Thank you! Now, kids, you heard what the policeman said, I want you to go through the gate, one at a time, go to the guardhouse and collect a visitors pass, then line up outside on the pavement. No silly behaviour please. We don’t want to be embarrassing ourselves.”
“Or get shot?”
“Thank you, Kyle.”
“Is that a SA-80 sir?” Kyle asked the police officer as his class mates went through the gate one at a time.
“Heckler and Koch MP-5.”
“Wicked.”
“Not if you are being shot by it.” The policeman smiled slightly.
“And you’ve got a Taser and a Glock.” Kyle said in admiration.
“You play a lot of video games, son?”
“Call of Duty and Battlefield.”
“Gun’s aren’t toys kid. When you fire one in real life it’s not like doing it on the Xbox.”
“Kyle? You need to come through the gate.”
“Sorry Miss, coming.”
“I’m really sorry about that.” Clara apologised to the sergeant on the gate.
“That’s no problem. Where are they all from?”
“Shoreditch. Someone I know organised a class trip for them. The kids don’t get many opportunities like this.”
“Well I hope they enjoy it. I’m just sorry you had to see Mr Tucker on a bad day.”
“Mr Tucker?”
“The raving Scotsman.”
“Oh him. I’ve heard worse on the playground at break.”
“I’m sure you have. Your charges are all lined up now. I should leave you to it.”
“Thank you Sergeant?”
“Pink, Daniel Pink.”
“Thank you Sergeant Pink.”
“Sam, coffee. Black as black can be.”
“Good weekend Malcolm?” his assistant asked as she ducked into the little kitchenette that adjoined his office in Number Ten.
“Right up until about 11 last night when The Guardian photographer caught the new education policy in his telephoto lens and put it on the front page of the early edition.”
“Well, it’s an unpopular policy.”
“And not my idea. It wasn’t in the manifesto.”
“One black coffee.”
“And how was your weekend Sam?”
“Well Mark and I went for dinner on Saturday night. I got a bit of time in the garden yesterday and I went for a swim last night.”
“Sounds very fulfilling.”
“Well, I’m sorry to tell you that you’ve got a nine fifteen in the Cabinet Room.”
“Tom wants to see me?”
“No, one of my old uni friends has become a school teacher. She asked if it was possible to arrange a trip for them. They’re doing something on politics so I’ve got them here for a tour and then they spend the rest of the day in Parliament.”
“Oh the irony. You know I’ve got this bonfire to put out at DfE.”
“Well I couldn’t just call her up to cancel. This has been in the planning for months. All you need to do is entertain them for twenty minutes. Then you can go back to bollocking civil servants over at DfE. Clara would probably thank you for it.”
“Let me guess, she’s a fully paid up member of the Opposition.”
“I couldn’t say for sure.”
“It’s fraternising with the enemy.”
“Relax, I’ve known her for years. You’ll do great. Just be nice, give them a brief overview of the building, the history, what you do. That’s all I ask. It’s all been cleared with the PM. I checked first thing this morning. Just remember that they are kids, they are harmless.”
“Harmless?”
“Alright, mostly harmless.”
“Don’t quote Douglas Adams at me. Next thing you’ll be telling me not to panic. Since when have I ever panicked?”
“Don’t forget your towel.”
“This isn’t fucking Doctor Who!” Malcolm was exasperated.
“If it were, you’d make a great Dalek.” Sam giggled at their easy banter.
“What’s that when it’s at home? It looks like a salt shaker had kids with an egg whisk.”
“If I had a TARDIS, I’d shove you in it and send you back to five minutes ago before you started ranting. I’ll be helping Clara for most of the day. You can fend for yourself if you are at DfE.”
“You’ll only need me for twenty minutes?”
“Just to drop in, say hi, answer some questions.”
“I suppose they are just kids, what could go wrong?”
“Remember Cabinet is at ten thirty.”
“I’ll meet you in the entrance hall in ten minutes?”
“That would be great.”
“Clara Oswald,” the famous black door opened.
“Sam! It’s been too long,” Clara said as they embraced.
“And you’ve become a teacher.”
“Thanks for organising this. It was Victoria who gave me the idea.”
“So she said on the phone.”
“It was really good of her since I couldn’t get to Tom’s for the Christening. It was exam season. You wouldn’t believe the journey we made today, Overground to Canary Wharf and then Jubilee to Westminster. The tube was packed…”
“Uhh…Miss?” asked a child in the group.
“Yes, we should be getting started.”
“Can we take photos Miss?”
“I’ll do introductions first.”
“Kids, this is Ms Cassidy, a friend of mine from university who works in Downing Street. She is the person you have to thank for organising this trip.”
“They can call me Sam or Ms Cassidy, I don’t mind.”
“Well they all call me ‘Miss’.”
“Can we take some photos Miss?”
“Well the headmaster wanted some for the website. Is that alright with you Sam?”
“Go right ahead. Do you want me to hold the camera?”
“Could you?”
“You know there aren’t many school kids who can say they’ve been to Downing Street.”
“That’s very true.”
‘Kids,’ Malcolm thought. ‘What the fuck do you say to kids? All of them probably from private school in a shire county. Daddy in the city. Mummy staying at home and hosting tea parties.’ On any ordinary Monday, Malcolm could be well on his way to extinguishing the fire at DfE not to mention the latest catastrophe at DoSAC. But no, he had to talk to fucking kids.
Then again, school kids were smarter than half the Civil Service and most of the Cabinet. For once there would be more than a dozen other brain cells in the room. But Malcolm’s trademark ‘violent sexual imagery’ was a no-no this morning. Mouthing off to ministers was fine but doing it to kids would get him arrested. The Gorbals Goebbels couldn’t do his work from a police cell.
He figured he may as well try to make a good impression. The teacher was Sam’s friend after all.
It took him three minutes in a cupboard to find what he was looking for. By the time he’d assembled the flipchart in the Cabinet Room and drawn a few rudimentary diagrams, the kids were due. He may as well try to educate them while they were here. Made a change from the usual idiots he had to teach in government departments.
“I didn’t realise you were an artist Malcolm.”
“Fuck off Jamie, I’m busy.”
“Tom said you would be. He said to take the morning…”
“Over at DfE? It’s exactly what I’ll be fucking doing.”
“No, with the kids.”
“Oh Jesus you are joking. Please tell me you are joking.”
“No I’m serious. Relax, I’ll sort out DfE. The department needs a good kick up the arse. You are an ideas man, let me do the heavy lifting.”
“Maybe I should get the kids to draft some new policy and send it to them.”
“Be better than some of the dog shit being made at the moment.”
“And on the left here you can see all the former Prime Ministers. Can you name them?” Malcolm heard Sam’s voice drift upstairs.
“Shite. I told her I’d meet them downstairs.”
“You with school children?” Jamie looked at him quizzically.
“Hey I can be a very charming man.” Malcolm said indignantly as he left the room.
“I’ve got to see this.”
“…Churchill, Attlee, Eden, Macmillan, the one I can’t remember, Wilson, Heath, Callaghan, Thatcher, Major, Blair-“ Clara counted them off as the group walked up the stairs before she was interrupted.
“Oh, Malcolm. There you are, we were getting tired of waiting.”
“These are the kids.”
“And this is their teacher, Clara Oswald. Clara this is Malcolm Tucker who is Tom’s Director of Communications.”
“Ah the raving Scotsman,” she said in acknowledgement.
“Well…”
“They call him the Gorbal Goebbels!” chimed in Jamie from the top of the stairs as he walked down to meet them as well.
“Jamie, there are children present.” Sam admonished.
“Oh just wait until he uses violent sexual imagery.”
“Jamie!” Sam was now horrified. “I’m really sorry about this.”
“I’ve heard worse at school. Boys will be boys, not,” she looked sharply over her shoulder at her charges, “that it is not an excuse to be rude. We are guests. Let’s not have any trouble.”
“Absolutely, kids, listen to your teacher.” Malcolm said authoritatively.
“If you were one of my students Mr Tucker, you’d be in detention after school and I’d be making you clean desks by now.” Clara said curtly. Sam couldn’t suppress her giggles. “Don’t follow his bad example kids.”
“Miss-?” asked Jamie.
“Oswald, Clara Oswald.”
“I’m Jamie McDonald, Press Officer. Welcome to Downing Street.” Jamie introduced himself. “Kids, Miss Oswald is absolutely right. Don’t follow Malcolm’s bad example.”
“Hey, I’m still here you know,” Malcolm was getting a little indignant.
“Shall we get off the stairs and into the Cabinet Room?” asked Sam.
“Yes, let’s get out of the way. Follow Sam everybody,” called out Clara marshalling the kids.
Malcolm and Clara were the last people on the landing.
“After you,” he gestured towards the doorway. “Sorry for earlier.”
“Well, as I said, I’ve heard worse. And god knows, I share your sentiments.”
“You’re a teacher.”
“And I’ve often wanted to say the same things.”
“Heck, you’re right. I’m a raving Scotsman.”
“Gorbals Goebbels?” Clara raised an eyebrow as they walked towards the Cabinet room.
“Jamie’s private joke. I’m a Glaswegian.”
“I see. Hopefully more likeable than your Nazi namesake.”
“You’d be the judge of that.” Malcolm chuckled. “We’re here.”
“Welcome to the Cabinet Room. This is where the Cabinet meets most weeks to discuss the business of government. If everybody takes a seat, then Malcolm can share some of his wisdom,” Sam began.
“Good morning everybody, I’m Malcolm Tucker, the Prime Minister’s Director of Communications,” Malcolm introduced himself.
“Where you are sat now—“ Malcolm took a breath.
“Where you are sat-“ Malcolm stopped again.
“I’m sorry, do you mind not sitting in Tom’s seat?” he pointed at a boy. “Yeah you. I don’t know your name.”
“Malcolm it’s just a chair,” Sam said gently.
“Yeah but its Tom’s chair.”
“Who is Tom?” asked the boy.
“Tom would be me,” said the man who was now entering the room.
“Prime Minister.” Malcolm greeted the newcomer.
“Malcolm,” his eyes landed on Clara and they lit up. “Clara, Vicki said you’d be here today. Sam, you should have said.”
“Wait, you two know each other?” Malcolm Tucker was not normally so underprepared.
“Clara was at university with me. Vicki was in the year below.” Sam explained.
“But Tom went to Oxford.”
“And we three went to Warwick,” said Clara.
“My day keeps on getting better and better.” Malcolm sighed and looked to the ceiling.
“You know the Prime Minister, Miss?” asked one of the students.
“I might have failed to mention it before,” Clara bit her lip and looked a little sheepish.
“Well this is just fu-effing perfect! Sam, you’ve got me teaching Tom’s sister’s friend’s Year 10 class!”
“Malcolm! Not in front of the children!” admonished Tom.
“Oh don’t worry about the kids. I’ve got a plan for that. Killing two birds with one stone,” Malcolm moved over to the flipchart. “Kids, tell me, what is so bad about school?”